


At the Gym

by megankent



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magnificent Seven AU: ATF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-23
Updated: 2003-03-23
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megankent/pseuds/megankent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short, sweaty, and sexy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chris

**Author's Note:**

> These were intended to be part of an ongoing epic. The epic's in limbo, and these scenes would have to be pretty severely revised to fit the current storyline. As always, blame goes to Maygra, without whom none of this would have happened.

"Hey Vin, Chris, you want to join us at Hudson's?"

"Nah, we're brown-bagging it today," he heard Vin reply easily. Chris looked up from the papers in his hand to watch the others pile out for lunch. Vin came to lean in the door of his office, his silhouette all long and lean. He smiled easily, silently inviting Chris to drop everything, and join him for the lunchtime workout they'd planned.

Chris looked down again, and was about to close the folder, when his phone rang. He glanced at it, saw it was Travis's extension, and grimaced. "You go on," he told Vin, "I'll see you in the gym after your run."

Vin shrugged easily, and jogged off, leaving him to take the phone call.

Travis wanted to know how he was doing, to review his last report (unfavorably), and discuss his doctor's prognosis on his recovery from the knee surgery (also unfavorably). Fuckitall, anyway Chris cursed, after the handset was safely in its cradle. Middle-aged men recovered from this sort of injury all the time, and went on to continue their active lives of pick-up basketball or country club tennis. Chris should have been back on the active list by now, eight weeks from surgery, and the fact that he wasn't was putting more than just his temperament in jeopardy.

It was unreasonable to keep an entire ATF SOG stood down, just because one member--even if that member was the team leader--was down. So, of course, Travis hadn't. But the team was out of balance. Even though Chris was accustomed, if not resigned, to riding in the surveillance van, there was a different feeling for him, and he knew it communicated to the team in spite of his best efforts, to know he was trapped there. In his worst moments, he pictured himself unable to perform even there, and trapped behind this desk forever. And at the rate he was not completing this paperwork, he would be trapped here all day, at least.

Glancing back down at JD's new computer requisition, he submitted one weekly, as regular as clockwork, Chris's eyes blurred and he reached up to rub at his nascent headache. Scrawling "Sorry" across the form and tossing the folder into the outbox, he pushed up, feeling the twinge in his left knee as reliable as JD. Fuckitall.

He grabbed the hated aluminum hospital-issue cane, and limped out to take the elevator to the basement gym. The place stank, like always, and more with the number of people who used it at lunchtime. Maybe there was some sort of OSHA claim they could make, and get a larger air conditioning unit down here? But it wasn't too crowded, and it couldn't be much more convenient, so they made due. Except Ezra, of course, who had a membership to one of those tony workout clubs over on Welton. Chris had met him there, once, for a game of racquetball. It was one of the few times he'd actually managed to win a bet with the man.

Of course, the gym here was primitive in comparison. A few exercise bikes, and a scattering of weight benches and aging Nautilus equipment, but it was sufficient for their needs generally, and certainly had everything Chris required for his prescribed PT. Now, if only he'd start to see some results…

He nodded greetings to a few people on his way in, really not feeling ready for polite conversation, and changed quickly a the t-shirt, shorts and sweats. He thought it might be Vin's shirt, he couldn't remember having cut the arms off any of his recently.

He dropped his workout bag and cane in the corner, and limped over to the mats to start his stretching regimen. It hurt, a lot, but seemed to make a difference, so Chris followed the program to the letter. It made the rest of the workout bearable, if not pleasant. And he tried really hard to silence the voice in the back of his head that wanted to point out that as people got older, things did get stiffer and more difficult. Chris wasn't willing to go there yet. After all, if Michael Johnson could play in the NBA at 38, Chris Larabee ought to damn-well be able to pass a department physical at 45.

He managed to push up off the floor without groaning, but not without effort, and picked one of the months-old news magazines to read while he was on the exercise bike. He wasn't the distance runner Vin was, and hadn't been even when he was Vin's age, but they had fun running together when they could, and Chris missed it. He wondered if Vin missed it. If he did, he hadn't said anything, probably trying to spare Chris's feelings. Fuckitall, anyway.

He read another analysis of the Florida Secretary of State's plans to improve their voting machines, as if that were the source of the election failure, and skipped right over the Middle East coverage. It just depressed him.  The science page caught his eye, with a description of abuse of the latest wonder drug. People were smashing them, and snorting or smoking them to get an instant high from a drug that was meant to be time-released over twelve hours. It was a powerful pain medication, called OxyContin. Chris had a bottle of it in his gym bag. Damn, didn't know I was on the cutting edge of street drugs. The medicine was good, strong, and made little things like coming to the office, and this workout, possible.

He finished up fifteen minutes on the bike, and then moved to the machines to do his PT. The leg weights were probably a quarter of what he'd use normally, and still some movements brought pain like an ice-pick through the front of his knee. He breathed through the reps as calmly as he could, wiping sweat from his face and arms, and the machine, before moving on.

By the time he was completing his last PT set, it was past one, and the gym was clearing out. Chris was happy to move on to the free weights, and start really working his upper body. He loaded up the bar for the curls, and savored the feeling of really pushing himself. Halfway through the third set, his muscles were starting a pleasant burn, and sweat was running down his spine, and soaking the waistband of his sweats, so he stripped them off to toss them at his bag. And missed. Damn.

The workout was doing its job, relieving some of his ever-present stress, and he moved on through lat raises, rowing, and ended at the bench press. He didn't load it as heavily has he might've, because he had the place to himself now, and the idea of explaining to Vin that he'd hurt himself lifting without a spotter was just not worth the extra poundage. After his third set, the adrenaline was flowing. He hadn’t felt this good in days, and he went for a fourth, just to prove he could do it. And pushed through to the end without a waver.

It seemed natural to invest that energy and optimism back into PT, and he moved to the leg-extension machine again. Shit! It hurt like hell to even fit his leg in behind the padded bar. But he started the exercise over, slowly and carefully, pushing up against what he knew was minimal resistance, while trying and failing to keep his breathing smooth and slow.

"You're done, Larabee," Vin's voice snapped in the empty room. Startled, Chris flinched, dropping the weight.

"*Fuck!*" That hurt! He managed to bite the second back, though it was pretty obvious he wasn't fooling his partner. Vin appeared from what Chris would have sworn was too small a shadow to hide him over by the staircase. How long had he been standing there? Chris had been sure he had the place to himself.

"Sorry," Vin offered. Chris glared back, pissed to have been observed without his awareness, and doubly pissed to have been caught breaking restrictions. He should have known better. He really should have. But he wasn't going to back down now.

"Fuck off, Tanner. " He tensed his leg, entertaining the thought of continuing, just to prove he could. And damn Vin and restrictions, and the fucking knee anyway. The knee--and it seemed to be "the" knee, not "his" knee any more--was killing him. It would be stupid to go on. He was occasionally stupid, but there was no reason for it today, so instead he eased it out, resting it gently on the pads. He was pleasantly sweaty and hot, and he still had a pile of paperwork upstairs that wasn't sorting itself. Right here, he had a hot and sweaty young lover offering him a couple of tablets and a bottle of water. Chris accepted them, and sighed as Vin nearly tapped his foot, waiting for him to actually swallow the pills. When he leaned in to offer a quick kiss, the smell and the heat of him overwhelmed Chris's senses. Or certainly his common sense, 'cause almost before he could think, he was grabbing Vin's ragged pony tail, loose and sweaty after five miles or more, and pulling him in for a deep searching kiss. Vin pulled back a little, but he was going to have to work harder than that to evade Chris's sudden onslaught.

Maybe it was a side effect of the exertion, or god-forbid the drugs, but Chris's skin seemed more sensitive, every nerve alive. His knee throbbed in counterpoint to his suddenly pounding heart, and for once he didn't care. One hand still gripping Vin's hair tightly, Chris slid the other down to the front of his flimsy running shorts, delighted to feel Vin's cock rising immediately to greet him. He relished the smell of sweat and musk that was uniquely Vin Tanner, and gripped him hard through the material, pulling him in until he was straddling Chris's lap. Chris could feel tiny shivers running across his skin, and the rivulets of sweat that dripped from his chin and nose, and soaked the already damp clothing that separated them.

That sensation distracted him briefly, and Vin managed to escape his liplock, to begin his own exploration down Chris's neck, and then up to his earlobe. Oh, God, his ear. It was fantastic. Beyond fantastic. Pulses of pleasure shook his whole body, from that one tiny touch. And then Vin was leaning in, with one arm around his waist, then diving lower, and one hand buried in Chris's sweat-damp hair.

Panting, Chris countered with short, hard strokes of Vin's cock, loving the way Vin arched into each thrust. He thought they'd end it quickly and joyously there, but then Vin was pulling back, looking hard at him, his shadowed eyes asking the sorts of questions Chris ought to be. This was risky, no doubt about it. Stupid even. But damn it felt good, and Chris felt strong. He hadn't felt those two things together in far too long. He wanted this. And Vin. And damn the consequences if they came along. Some things were just too valuable to pass by.

However their silent communication functioned, it was working now, 'cause Vin agreed without saying a word, and committed himself with the clarity of a skydiver stepping out the door. There was a certain look of abandon that Vin got, that Chris loved to give him, where mind and body seemed to part ways, almost. Sensation ruled, and every touch of Chris's, every move seemed to drive him higher, push him farther into ecstasy. It was intoxicating to watch, and a pretty fucking enormous ego boost to be the source of that kind of pleasure.  He swiped his hand inside Vin's shorts, gripping him directly now, and the resulting shudder shook them both.

Inspired, he released his own dick, and held them both in one hand, milking and stroking them together. And then there just wasn't enough of Vin for him to touch, and he was grabbing his shirt, pushing it up to reveal that powerful chest, now streaming with runnels of fragrant perspiration. He couldn't resist the skin right in front of him, and leaned in to suckle the erect nipple he'd revealed.

Vin made one valiant bid for control, gripping Chris's shoulders hard, and begging him to wait. But this was Chris's show today, and the script didn't include caution or restraint. Before Vin could utter another word, Chris bit down, loving Vin's sharp gasp and shudder. He pulled and stroked them both harder and faster, knowing that Vin was close, and driving him up and over the edge.

The orgasm took him, and Vin cried out sharply. It shook and rolled through him, as Chris kept pumping, flowing out in warm waves of come and long, powerful spasms, until he finally relaxed against Chris's chest, face tucked against Chris's throat, alternately gasping and sighing.

"Yeah, Vin," he whispered gently, treasuring the trust and love that this man had given him so completely.  "That's it. Oh yeah." Nothing really, just sounds that somehow communicated his appreciation, his joy in the pleasure that he could offer in return.

They weren't done yet, at least Chris wasn't. He continued the stroking on their dicks, his own still hard and ready. Vin was hard yet, but would soften soon, and before then Chris aimed to have his way.

Vin noticed, and his hand came up in a silent offer of assistance. But that wasn't on Chris's program either, and he shook his head, whispering, soothing, "Shh. S'okay." And still he kept the steady motion, feeling the tension in him gather and build, slowly, and just as slowly, it finally spilled over.

It was almost unbearably perfect, easing him over into ecstasy that seemed to just rock him gently. He felt Vin's eyes on him, sharing his pleasure, and Chris lifted eyes to Vin's, needing to anchor the source and the reason for this incredible pleasure. And was almost sad when Vin looked away. But he followed an instinct, and reached out, turning and raising that chin gently, until he could see those eyes again. Pouring all he had and all he was into those depthless pools, willing Vin to feel and understand that he was loved, and cherished, and the source of Chris's joy.

The waves washed through him, and the tide finally drew back, leaving him limp and sated. "Love you, Vin," he whispered, lest he harbor any doubt. Love you so much, silent, but evident nonetheless. He found the energy to guide Vin's face in for an almost-chaste kiss, unwilling to close his eyes or drop his gaze. Vin stayed with him, until his eyes crossed. It was both comical and adorable.

But then Vin shivered, in a way that wasn't pleasurable, and sat back, breaking the mood. "And I love you, cowboy," he grinned saucily. "But if I don't get in that shower soon, I’m going to freeze my ass off."

Since the ass in question was in fact firmly resting on Chris's overwarm thighs, he thought it was probably an idle threat. But Chris slapped it, not gently, and said, "Well, we can't have that." He took a moment to gently return Vin's penis to its place in his shorts, and then his own. Vin was gentle in his dismount, and then ready with a hand that Chris needed a little more than he wanted to admit. He watched Vin take a deep breath, and grimaced. Chris wrinkled his nose at the reek, then laughed. It sure beat the mildew.

"C'mon, cowboy," Vin urged him toward the locker room. Complaining about his stick-up-his-ass boss, and trying without really trying to snap him with a towel. Chris took the towel easily, and demonstrated how it should be done. Vin yelped, and jumped out of range, taking shameless advantage of Chris's infirmity. But he gathered up Chris's things, and threw him his cane, and glared pointedly at him, daring him to resist. Larabee long recognized the value of choosing his fights, and followed him meekly into the shower.

They had the place to themselves, but Chris couldn't have made a move if he'd wanted to. Between the workout and the…well…workout, he was honestly all-in. The hot water soothed and loosened things up, and poured down on his hair and face sluicing away the salt, sweat and semen. He was blissfully self-absorbed, until some shift in Vin's breathing caught his attention. Surely not? But he had to chuckle when Vin turned away, and his hand reached out to twisting the control over to frigid, and flinching under the onslaught.

Ahh, youth. 


	2. Vin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These were intended to be part of an ongoing epic. The epic's in limbo, and these scenes would have to be pretty severely revised to fit the current storyline. As always, blame goes to Maygra, without whom none of this would have happened.

Pushing his final sprint, Vin almost made the light at Lincoln, but had to pull up short or get splattered by a delivery girl in a beat-up VW. Even her Domino's sign looked like it had seen better days.  Jogging in place, he paced his breathing, and waited for his heart rate to slow. Lunchtime in Denver in July: he wondered if he'd be more likely to die of heat exhaustion or asphyxiation. 

When he got the light, Vin jogged slowly across, then dropped to a cool-down walk for the last block.  He could feel the pressure building, but couldn't distinguish clouds from the ever-present summer smog. Maybe a good thunderstorm would clear out both the heat *and* the pollution. 

Angie at the security desk waved and smiled when Vin badged in.  He took the stairs two at a time down to the basement, and slid as quietly as possible into the gym. Even in the best of weather conditions, there was a persistent odor of gym socks and mold. Today the place was purely rank. 

Chris was still there, of course, it was past the end of the lunch hour, and he had the place to himself. "Light Duty" obviously meant something different to Larabee than to anyone else. The man worked at his desk all morning, and then spent his lunch down here. He'd be back at his desk for a full afternoon, too. Vin grinned silently, like he had any room to talk. Being injured, be less than fully capable-- It wasn't just the job, it undermined his ego in ways that he didn't like to look at too much. And Chris was the same. Or worse. 

He was on the bench, pressing a goodly amount more than his own body weight. And without a spotter. Vin watched from the alcove by the stairs, as Chris lowered the weight smoothly to his chest, and then pressed it again. The tendons in his arms stood out strongly, and beaded sweat ran freely down the valleys. The sweat-soaked t-shirt clung to him, in a way that didn't bode well for Vin's ability to concentrate this afternoon. He'd ditched his sweats, and Vin dropped his eyes to the injured knee. 

The arthroscopic scars were too small to see from here, but the swollen, angry inflammation was all-too-clear. 

Chris racked the bar, and pushed up to sitting on the bench. Vin held absolutely still, not yet willing to give up this opportunity to look his fill, to see Larabee without his normal mask of self-sufficiency. He watched Chris limp heavily across to the leg-extension machine; Vin scanned the room for his cane and found it propped in the far corner by his gym bag. Damn the idiot. 

At least he wasn't violating his PT restrictions, Vin noted, as Chris set the machine to a much lighter resistance that he would normally have used. But Chris gasped sharply while fitting his leg into the machine, and Vin winced with him when he began the exercise. 

Chris's breathing implied an effort far beyond what it ought. Vin knew, with sudden clarity, that this wasn't the first set Chris had done. Maybe not even the second. And that *was* a violation, one that wasn't going to make his recovery any easier in the long run. 

"You're done, Larabee." Chris dropped the weight sharply, and cursed the sudden pull on the injured joint. "Sorry." Vin stepped from the shadows to meet Chris's annoyed glare. 

"Fuck off, Tanner." But he didn't make a move to continue the exercise, and that said more than anything how he was really feeling. 

Vin crossed to Chris's gym bag, and drew out his meds and a fresh water bottle.  "Here." Chris glared at him a moment more, then silently accepted them. 

He watched carefully as Chris swallowed the pills, and then leaned down to steal a quick kiss. Chris had other ideas, though, gripping his ponytail tightly, and holding him firm while he plundered Vin's mouth deeply. He still tasted slightly metallic from the pills, but the heat and the hunger were 100% Larabee. Vin pulled against that grip, testing, but Chris didn't let up even slightly. Geez, didn't he realize that anyone could walk right in? Vin just had. 

But maybe that just added to the thrill, 'cause now Chris's other hand was sliding down Vin's chest, his waist, coming to rest at the front of his nylon running shorts, the material suddenly seeming no protection at all. New sweat broke out all over his skin; his cock came up hard and fast. Chris grabbed him there, pulling gently, until the only way Vin could get closer was to swing a leg over and straddle him, taking special care not to jar the injured knee. 

It was hot, sweaty and hot, and Vin pulled his mouth from Chris's to lick down the column of his throat, and then back up to nibble and suck on one ear, loving the shudder that shook Chris's whole body. He slid one hand up to tangle in the damp, blond hair, and one hand around Chris's back, pulling him forward from the vinyl seat, delving down toward the waistband of his shorts. 

Chris panted sharply, his breath warm and wet by Vin's ear, one hand now working steadily on Vin's erection--shorts, what shorts?--and the other still tugging on his hair, that tiny pain providing a counterpoint to the surging heat rushing through the rest of his body. Vin tried one more time for sanity, pulling back enough to meet Chris's eyes in his flushed face, to silently ask--not if it was a good idea, because it wasn't--but if this was a risk they wanted to take. Here. Now. But he could see the frustration, the desperate wanting, and a small undercurrent of fear in Chris's eyes, and then Chris was pulling him back again, using his hair for a handle and if what he needed right now was Vin, Vin wasn't going to argue. 

He gave himself up to the sensation, loving the feeling of Chris's strength against his. Slow recovery hadn't been easy for Chris, and taking it easy in bed hadn't made him feel any more like the strong man he was. But, as much as he loved Chris, and as concerned as he was for his friend and his lover, it hadn't been easy on Vin, either. He'd tried to offer unending support, to put his own needs on hold, to not miss what they usually had, 'cause the last thing Chris needed was another burden to carry. 

But Vin had missed this feeling: being held securely, being driven higher and harder than he thought he could bear. He arched sharply when Chris pulled down his waistband, and yeah, maybe the shorts had mattered, 'cause the feeling of that warm, wet palm on him, pulling him, stroking him. And now Chris's mouth was on his throat: licking, sucking, biting. Vin gave up all pretense of control; it was all he could do to cling to Chris's shoulders and ride this out. 

Chris's hand left his cock, and Vin whimpered softly; the cool breeze across his exposed, heated skin was almost painful. Then the sweat-slick hand was back, along with Chris's dick, and the feeling was different, Chris was gasping in time with him now, dropping his hand from Vin's hair to the hem of his t-shirt, pushing it up and dropping his mouth to Vin's chest, licking and sucking the right nipple, sending sparks straight to his groin. Vin felt the pressure building, tried to rein it in, to stay with Chris on this, gasping out, "Wait! Wait!" 

But his protests seemed to only drive Chris harder. He bit down sharply, and--oh God, it was too much--and Chris was stroking, milking their dicks together, harder, faster, and then lightning struck, rolling outward from Vin's center, shaking and stretching him from the inside out. And he was spurting, and gasping, and his head fell forward, and he buried his face in Chris's neck, sticky hair, sweat and all. 

The feel, and smell and taste of Chris had long since overwhelmed anything from outside. But it wasn't until he heard the whisper that he realized Chris hadn't spoken the whole time. 

"Yeah, Vin. That's it. Oh, yeah." 

Chris's hand was still moving on their joined cocks; he was still hard, and spreading Vin's come over both of them. The urgency was gone from his motion now, it was gentle and smooth, and Vin finally moved a hand to help out. But he felt Chris shake his head no, and whisper, "Shhh. S'okay."  Chris kept up the stroking as Vin began to soften, and was almost becoming tender. And then, not suddenly, not fiercely, almost peacefully, the orgasm came over Chris. Vin pulled back to watch it take him. The muscles in his belly and legs rippled and rolled, his breathing grew harsh, and his skin flushed even brighter red. And the look on his face. Oh Lord. His eyes went from bright and hot to this slow, deep glazed blue-green. And they were fixed on Vin's face. He dropped his eyes, not ready to take it in, but Chris's left hand came up, forcing their eyes to meet, to share this moment of bliss, and to accept his part in it, in the joy he brought to Chris's life. 

The moment caught and held, as Chris's body continued to shake under his, and finally fell still. "Love you, Vin," Chris whispered, and pulled his face in, still holding his eyes until they were so close Vin lost focus, and kissed him gentle and sweet this time, just the slightest touch of open mouth and tongue. 

A cold breeze from the air conditioning sent an unpleasant chill across Vin's sweaty back, and he sat back on Chris' lap. "And I love you, cowboy. But if I don't get in that shower soon, I'm going to freeze my ass off." 

"Well, we can't have that." Chris slapped the body part in question, then lifted the waistband of Vin's shorts and settled his limp dick back inside, giving it a gentle pat.  Vin climbed off, making sure not to jar Chris's knee, and then offering a hand for balance as Chris rose.  He picked up Chris's towel from the floor, and wiped their sweat off the upholstery. Maybe they should try some vinyl at home? Sure made for quick cleanup. The room still stank, but now of their sex, and Vin wondered how long it would take for the air to cycle back to its normal, moldy stench. He saw Chris wrinkle his nose, too, and laughed. 

"C'mon, cowboy. Let's get a shower and get back to work, eh? I have this hard-assed boss who doesn't like to see me slacking off during work hours." He snapped the towel at Chris's ass, but not too hard, and Chris managed to grab it, and snapped back, without the same restraint.  Vin yelped, and jumped out of range, trusting for once that Chris wasn't going to chase him on that knee.  He gathered up Chris's workout bag, tossed him the cane, and glared until Chris gripped it and put it to use, heading for the locker room and the showers. 

The shower was a gentle torture all its own. They didn't touch, in fact, had the obligatory empty showerhead between them, and anyway, they were both too spent for more than looking. But to watch Chris in this most basic self-care, running his hands up and down that skin where Vin had touched and rubbed and tasted… To see the water streaming through the damp, darkened hair of his head, and the darker curls of his groin... It was a poetry all its own, and Vin felt his body wanting to stir again. 

He finally had to turn away, cranking the water temperature over to cold and gasping sharply at the shock. Chris's filthy chuckle said he knew exactly what was going on. But the cold water did its job, and Vin managed to step out of the shower without any unseemly symptoms of his crazy love for Chris Larabee. 


End file.
